Found
by in-prose
Summary: A seventeen-year-old Etta goes in search for answers about her past and maybe a chance of a future.


Title: Found

Spoils: All Episodes are fair game

Summary: A seventeen-year-old Etta goes in search for answers about her past and maybe a chance of a future.

Author's Notes: It's based on what Georgina Haig (Etta) said in an interview. No beta, so please forgive my mistakes. Comments = love.

Disclaimer: These are not my characters; I just play with them. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

Found

Etta hovered at the bottom of the steps waiting for a commercial break. She didn't want to interrupt. She'd been with this family longer than any other. It had been three years, since she was fourteen, but it was still their house, their living room.

She heard the news caster say, "And stay tuned for more information on the changes to curfew regulations."

Etta took her chance. She peaked around the corner. Bill and Tracey Ann Boyd sat on the comfortable sofa in front of their television. Bill—a small, paunchy man with a kind smile—sat at one end with his nose buried in his computer tablet. Etta doubted whether he had been listening to a single word the news reporters were saying. Tracey Ann—round woman with an even kinder smile—sat at the other end of sofa. Her eyes were glued to the screen of the TV even though the shifting picture made her dizzy.

They were good people; they had genuinely tried to welcome Etta into their home. They were older. Their two children were grown. Bill and Tracey Ann had decided to take a few of the orphans from the Purge. They took the easy cases; the ones about to place out of the system and just needed a stable place to live.

That wasn't strictly speaking Etta's case. She had been their toughest case yet and Etta knew it. She never felt comfortable. She was reckless and a runaway. She was constantly being hauled back to their house by some authority. She would disappear into the room they had given her and wait for Tracey Ann to come talk with her.

"Etta, sweetie, why do you keep doing this?" she would say. And Etta would never have an answer.

Bill had talked to her last time. "Henrietta, you need to know something," he had said. "This has got to be the last time. We can't keep up. It's a dangerous time and you're making it very difficult for us. We've never had to do this before, but if it happens again, we're going to have to send you back. Like I said, it's a dangerous time. We really like you, Etta. You're a great kid and I know you're having a rough time. We want to help, but there is only so much we can do."

Having a rough time? Her whole life was a rough time. She had never had a home. She'd lived in other people's houses, in group facilities, on the streets. But she'd never had a home. She'd lost her parents when she was four years old. She probably had a home with them, but now she couldn't even remember their faces.

Since Bill had talked to her, Etta had tried harder. That had been six months ago and she'd stayed put. She was still angry. She still wanted to be anywhere else. But she stayed because going back meant a group home. The Boyd house was heaven compared to those places. Etta had also found out something that had shifted her focus. She needed more answers and she wasn't going to get it from Bill and Tracey Ann.

Etta stepped around the corner into their view.

"Hi Etta," said Tracey Ann, still without looking away. "Your homework all finished?"

This was Tracey Ann's go to question. Etta was always finished her homework. She was smarter than all the kids in her classes and most of the teachers. The assignments never took her long.

She was always in trouble at school for talking back and getting to fights, but she had good grades. It was one of the earliest lessons she had learned from a kid at a group home. The Purge orphans got passed around lot, which meant a lot of different schools and therefore incomplete transcripts. If Etta had any hope doing anything with her life, her grades needed to be so good that the gaps would be overlooked.

"Yes, my homework is finished," Etta said.

"Join us then," said Tracey Ann. She patted the space in between herself and her husband.

Etta took one look at the small space and chose the cushioned footrest for the armchair in the corner. "I actually have something to ask you."

This time Tracey Ann looked away from the TV. Etta usually wasn't very good at asking.

"What is it, sweetie?"

Etta hated they way Tracey Ann called her sweetie. I made her feel like a child. She ignored it like she always ignored it. "I want to go to New York. I don't need any money. I've saving from the babysitting job I had over the summer. I just need you to get me the transit application so I can go."

Tracey Ann frowned. "What's in New York?"

"A scholarship opportunity. The Department of Science is offering scholarships for the Fringe Division Academy. The first few years are like college and then you enter the Academy if you pass all the tests and stuff. They're having interviews in two weeks."

Even Bill looked up this time. They passed a very surprised look between them. Etta had never talked about her future in general before, let alone being a Fringe agent.

"A Fringe agent?" said Bill. "Are you sure?"

"No, not really. But it's just an interview. I have been thinking about it for a while. I am a Purge orphan, so—"

"Oh sweetie, don't say that," said Tracey Ann. It was the worst way to describe someone like Etta. "You are so much more than that."

Etta shrugged. "I'm okay with it. It's what I am. But I was lucky," she smiled at her foster parents and tried to be genuine, "Now, I think I want to give back."

Tracey Ann looked at Bill. He sighed. "You place out of the system next year and we want to help get the best we can. I'll call your social worker tomorrow and see what the paper work entails."

Etta smiled. "Thank you. I really do appreciate it."

She got up. Without letting herself think about it, crossed to the sofa, kissed Bill on the cheek, and then Tracey Ann. They sat stunned at this sudden out pouring of affection. Etta just left the room. She took a few steps up the stairs and paused to listen.

"Did she just kiss me on the cheek?" asked Bill. "I can't remember the last time she let someone touch her."

"Bill, this is wonderful. And she asked. A year ago, she would have just left. She really has been a success. We did the right thing by sticking it out with her."

Etta rolled her eyes and kept moving up the stairs. She didn't want to listen to the Boyds congratulate themselves. She slipped back into the bedroom. It was the Boyds' daughter's old room. The daughter liked lavender. It was nicely furniture and the walls, carpet and bedspread were all purple. Etta would have preferred the son's room done in a similar fashion, but a dark blue. She kept it neat because it wasn't her room; she was only borrowing it.

She flopped down on the bed and pulled the pillow out from under her head. She let it drop over her face. She felt better in the darkness.

Well, at least they didn't laugh at her for wanting to be a Fringe agent because it wasn't something she was toying with; it was the only thing that she wanted. It was what her parents had done and it was the only way she was ever going to be connected to them.

Etta pushed the pillow off of her face. She listened again. She heard the television. She got off the bed and knelt on the floor. She stuck her arm under the bed and rummaged around behind the storage bins until she felt the thick folder. She pulled it out. She tired to keep herself from looking at it, but that only last a few days at a time.

It was her social work file. Page after page of the digital file her caseworker brought up on his screen in order to figure out exactly who she was. Etta got a kid she'd met at her last group home to hack into the system and printed out at the cheapest Internet café she could find. It's where she'd gone the last time she ran away. The quality was terrible, but every page was there. Every placement, every social work visit, every home visit, every time she'd run away, and everything they knew about her history.

She had learned that she wasn't actually a Purge orphan, even though her parents were just as much traitors as everyone who was killed that night. The real Purge kids were spared by The Observes if they were under the age of about seventeen. Family took some in; friends took some in. The rest were left to live on their own or go into the system. It depended on the kid which was luckier. She hadn't lost her parents in the Purge; she was found during the Invasion. The records didn't say where by whom or how.

There was no mention of her parents until she was about thirteen. She'd run away from another foster family and was living on the streets with some other Purge kids. Loyalists raided their tent city one night and Etta had been caught.

She'd been thrown in jail like any other vagrant, which meant getting a photographed, finger printed and a DNA scan. She'd spent two nights there until her caseworker finally came to collect her.

It was only Etta guessing that's when they'd figured out who she was because no one told her. No one sat her down and said 'by the way, your parents were the original Fringe team. The ones who lead the resistance and tried to save the world.' She supposed they didn't want to give her any ideas.

All the Purge kids talked about joining the resistance, but Etta was really going to do it. If her parents had been able to start the resistance from within Fringe division, she sure as hell could find a way to fight too.

Etta continued to leaf from her file. It was already become warn. She was Etta Smith in the official records. It the last name they gave to all the Purge kids too little to know their own names. Etta had been able to say her first name thankfully. She would have hated to be a Jane or some other plain name they'd given to the babies found wondering the streets or still in their cribs.

Before every incident report, there was a cover sheet with the same information repeated over and over again. Until Etta was about thirteen, there was blank space next to the words birth mother and the words birth father. Without any notice, suddenly all the cover letters had filled spaces. Birth Mother: Olivia Dunham. Birth Father: Peter Bishop. That was it. Suddenly, she was somebody. Henrietta Bishop. She had a family. Not here. Nothing really had changed. But no one knew what happened to the original team. Maybe there were still alive.

That's what kept her from running away more than anything else. She needed to become a Fringe agent. She needed to finish school. She needed this one of the six scholarships that the Department of Science of offering.

There was a knock at the door. Without panicking, Etta stuff the file back under the bed and opened one of the bins. She pretended to be shuffling through it.

"Come in," she called.

Tracey Ann opened the door. "We've talked it over. And Bill and I have decided that it would be better if I came with you. That way you would only have to worry about the interview and nothing else. Beside, the transit papers are easier to get if your guardian accompanies you. Is that alright?"

Etta stood up. "I don't want to be any trouble. It's really okay. I've travel on my own before."

"It's no trouble, sweetie. I want to come. Who doesn't love New York?"

"That'd be nice. Thank you." Etta smiled again. It wasn't going to be nice and it was going to make it harder to find anyone who might have known her parents.

This trip to New York had two purposes: the scholarship interview and information. Nina Sharp, the woman who ran the Department of Science, had raised her mother or so it said on the net. Etta had done a little bit of research. Anything in depth would have raised flags. It didn't help much anyway since all the images had been removed.

Etta's plan was to go to the interview and then roam the halls of the Department until she found Ms. Sharp or someone who could put her in touch. It wasn't a very well thought out plan, but she could always pretend to be lost after her interview if she was caught.

Tracy Ann smiled back. "It's a plan then. Would you email me the details and I'll make all the arrangements?"

"Sure. Thanks."

"It's my pleasure. I'm looking forward to it actually." She beamed.

"It will be nice," Etta repeated.

"Maybe we can spend the weekend? Make a real girls' trip out of it."

"That's not necessary."

"Sweetie, you deserver it." Then, she left before Etta had a chance to argue.

Two weeks later, Etta walked beside Tracey Ann as they hurried up the steps to the Department of Science.

"Sweetie, c'mon. We're running late."

Etta didn't answer. They wouldn't be running late if she'd been on her own. Tracey Ann had not listened and they had got on the subway in the wrong direction.

They finally made it inside. Tracey Ann stepped up to large marble welcome desk. Etta cut her off.

"Hi, my name is Henrietta Smith. I'm here for the Broyles' Scholarship interviews."

"Okay, you need to fill out this and your mother has to fill out this," said the woman behind the desk who looked comically small standing behind it.

"Foster mother," Etta corrected. The woman didn't seem to care.

Etta passed over the paperwork. They filled out the forms quickly and guard showed them to a waiting area at the end of a row of offices.

The guide opened the door, interrupting the man in the suit standing the front of the room.

"Ah, the last arrival. Please, have a seat." He picked up a chipboard from the conference table in front of him and checked something off.

Etta and Tracey Ann found seats at the far end of the table. The rest of seats were filled with other kids her age and their parents. Etta had not really told the Boyd's that this was the final round. She had already filled out applications, wrote essays, and had two phone interviews to get to this point. The dozen kids in this room would be pared down to six who would be getting the scholarships.

They listened to the man talk about what it means to be a Fringe agent and what their first years of school would be like if they were selected.

Then the interviews started. One by one the kids followed the man out of room. When they returned forty-five minutes to an hour later and spoke in whispers to their parents. Etta waited for the first two kids to go and come back.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she said to Tracey Ann in hushed voice.

"Hurry back, you might be next."

Etta nodded and slipped out the door. The boldly walked down the hallway like she knew where she was going. There was an Observer standing at the end of the passage. He watched her walk past with his strange, unblinking eyes and said nothing.

Etta jammed her hand in the pockets of the blazer she'd borrowed from Tracey Ann and kept walking. It was remarkably easy. She walked with purpose even though she had no idea where she was going. None of the office workers stopped her and none of the Observers did either. She marched to the elevator and punched the top button, operating on the assumption that the boss always had the top floor. The doors opened again much faster than Etta was expecting.

She stepped out of the elevator and had no idea what to do next. She was at the end of a long, empty hall that looked exactly like the ones on floors below. A secretary sat a small desk all the way at the end of the hallway.

She was watching Etta with a raised eyebrow.

"Um, is this Ms. Sharp's office?" Etta called down the long hallway.

"Yes."

"Is there anyway I could speak to her? I just need a few minutes."

"No."

Etta moved closer. "Please, it's important. It's about an old friend, I think."

"You think? Get back on the elevator and I won't call security. Go."

"Just five minutes. I came all the way from Boston."

"You should have made an appointment. I'm calling security. You are not supposed to be here."

Etta felt tears welling up. "Please!" she nearly shouted. "I just want to talk to her."

The doors behind the desk opened, but there was no one there.

"Cindy, what is going on?" called a voice.

Etta dashed around the secretary and into the office. "I just need—please."

The office was bare except for a desk, two chairs and a low, long bookshelf. A woman stood behind the desk, but she leaned heavily on the furniture. Nina Sharp was older than Etta was expecting.

Cindy caught up with Etta and started to drag her away. "I'm sorry," said the secretary. "I'm calling security now."

Nina just stared at Etta; their eyes were locked. "Don't bother. Let her go. What is it you want?" Nina said slowly.

"I'm Etta Smith. I just have a few questions about someone you knew a long time ago. I'm _her_ daughter. Please," Etta said. She could tell Nina already knew who she was.

"I'm calling security," said Cindy again.

"Absolutely not. Leave us and I don't want to be disturbed."

Nina sat heavily back into her chair. The secretary left, looking put off. Nina pressed a button on her desk and the doors closed. She pressed another button and there was a beep.

"No one can hear us. Who are you?"

"Henrietta Bishop. You knew my parents. I just need—I need." She couldn't keep talking. She pressed her lips together, but she still shook as she tried to keep herself from crying.

"Come here, my dear. My legs don't work as well as they used to. I want to look at you." Nina motioned and Etta stepped around the desk until she was two feet away from Nina. "God, I knew it as soon as I saw you. You look just like them. Both of them. You were lost. It nearly destroyed your parents. I can't believe you're stand in front of me."

Etta's lip was still trembling. "I look like them?"

"Most like Olivia, but there is definitely some of Peter in your eyes. How did you find out?"

"They know. They don't know that I know though. It's in my file."

"Which you hacked into the system to get?"

Etta looked wary. "Yes, kind of. How did you guess?"

"Because, my dear, it's what your father would have done."

Nina held out her arms. Etta stepped closer and allowed herself to be hugged by this stranger; it felt more like home then anything Etta could remember.

Finally, they separated.

"Tell me everything," said Nina. "I want to know everything about you."

"Only if you tell me about my parents."

"I can tell you a little bit, but it's not safe if _they_ read you. They understand that I knew Olivia and Peter, but there's no reason for you to know about them."

"They can't read me," said Etta quietly and braced for the fallout. She had never told anyone that; she had hardly let that secret become a fully formed thought in her.

Nina's eyes widened. She leaned back in her chair with her mouth slightly open.

Etta kept talking. "I stood in front of them and screamed in my head that I was runner for resistance and they didn't hear me."

Nina looked even more surprised. "Were you a runner?"

"No, I was testing them."

The older woman shook her head and smiled. "Now, I know you are a Bishop. Henrietta, I never thought I'd see you again. And look at you, so grown up. It's incredible."

"You knew me?"

"Of course, my dear. Olivia and her sister are like daughters to me. I was there when you were born. Olivia thought she didn't want me there, but Peter called me at about three o'clock in the morning and said Olivia changed her mind. I went straight to the hospital and held your mother's hand."

"Wow," said Etta breathlessly. She was on verge of tears again. She sniffed and wiped the back of her hand across her face. "Do you have any pictures of them?"

"Not here. I'm sorry. I have a few at my house, but it's safer if _they_ think I've entirely rejected her and regret taking her in."

"Do you? Regret it?"

"Not for a second."

Etta nodded, fighting back another threat of tears.

"You haven't told me what you are doing here? Did you come on your own?" asked Nina.

"No, my foster mother is downstairs. I'm a finalist for a Broyles's Scholarship, but I've probably just missed my interview."

"You want to be a Fringe agent?"

Etta nodded again. "So I can be like them."

"Then, you have your scholarship. I'll come down with you now and talk to the director. Besides, I want to meet your foster mother. It's better if I keep to my schedule. But this is not the last time we will talk. I promise. We are as good as family, but you were right to keep it to yourself. Know that I am watching out for you. I am not going to get lost again, Henrietta. I'm not going to let that happen."

This was not what Etta had been expecting. To even talk to Nina was more than she hoped for. To find a real connection, someone who could really tell her about who she is and who her parents were, was beyond her imagination. She had found something as close to family as she probably was ever going to get and it filled some tiny part of the gaping hole in her life. It wasn't necessarily going to really change anything, but Etta felt just a little bit calmer inside herself.

She dove towards Nina for another tight hug. "This is all I wanted. Thank you, Ms. Sharp."

Nina stuck a hand under Etta's chin. "Call me Nina."


End file.
